


the garden of our love, unfading

by appleblossoms



Category: EXO (Band), Z.Tao (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Ass Play, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Safer Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:09:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28672770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/appleblossoms/pseuds/appleblossoms
Summary: Zitao asks to try something new. Minseok can't give him everything he deserves, but this, he can do for him.
Relationships: Huang Zi Tao | Z.Tao/Kim Minseok | Xiumin
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	the garden of our love, unfading

**Author's Note:**

> hello! doing a little new year’s cleaning and dusted off this old wip. hope you like dead rarepairs >.<

“Bend me over the table,” Zitao asks and Minseok hums, immediately crowding him against the kitchen table, leaving him no chance to drop the dish towel.

“Not like that,” Zitao protests, laughs, on his back between kisses and swatting at him with the towel. “You're impossible. Awful.”

Minseok kisses him, impossibly and awfully, until Zitao turns giggly, then quiet, then until he urges Minseok closer, closer, almost on top of him, right where Minseok wants to be, until the table creaks dangerously.

“How else is this done,” Minseok asks when Zitao lets him, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. He’s so warm, inside and out, a sunshine, melted butter. “Is this not nice? Do you not like it?” He kisses him again, pretends not to know, feels Zitao's exasperation, frustration bleed into their kisses although he responds eagerly. He’s so fun to play with, likes being played with, just like this.

“Minseok,” Zitao says, whines, but he’s melting against the table, a dragon turning into a jellyfish washed ashore. He bites his lip, bites at the spot that looks like it bled earlier so Minseok aims a kiss there, ignores the table's protests. Ceases all movement, just feels Zitao's body under his, warm, feels his chest rise when he breathes in, feels it deflate when he sighs. Feels the hands in his back pockets, on his butt.

“Please, do it properly. Don't make me ask again,” Zitao says and his pout shouldn't be allowed, not during sex, this reverse sunshine, tugging at Minseok's heart.

He gets up, pulls Zitao with him to see the delight, the eagerness return. Tiptoes to kiss him once more before he turns him around by his waist, presses a hand between his shoulders, feels him yield, bend over the table all on his own. He cushions his head on crossed arms, turns to look over his shoulder with eyes half-closed, widens his stance for Minseok to fit between. An offering, an invitation.

There is a shift in the atmosphere when Minseok draws close, reaches under his shirt to lightly touch his waist, intends it to tickle, is rewarded with Zitao leaning into the touch like a cat. He reaches further, ghosts fingertips over the side of his chest, too far away from his nipples. Zitao still shivers, buries his head in his arms, still pliant like butter, achingly pleased, Minseok assumes. Minseok reaches, reaches, his crotch pressing against Zitao now, reaches through the arms of his shirt, strokes the underside of his upper arms, past his armpits, then down again, ribcage, waist, hips. Hoists his hips up a little, sees his own excitement mirrored in Zitao's trembles, hears it in his whispers, unintelligible, not for him to hear.

He barely has the resolution to do so but he steps away entirely, just for the flash of desperation, the small whine. It makes him smile, being wanted like this.

“Should I make dinner now?” Minseok asks, but doesn't care to camouflage the desire in his voice.

“No, no,” Zitay says, “Minseok.” Too horny to even make a joke about himself being dinner. He reaches down, pulls at the hem of his own pants before reaching to the front and awkwardly unbuttoning them, still bent over the table, pulls again without unzipping them until he manages to push them over his butt, along with his underwear.

Minseok just watches, waits, enjoys. He wouldn't even know what they planned for dinner, thinks he forgot how to cook entirely, his mind blank except for Zitao's voice, his smell, the way he wiggles on the table now to get comfortable again.

“Here,” he says, like Minseok needed being told, trapped by the pants pooling around his calves, “Minseok—”

And Minseok dashes out of the kitchen to get lube, a condom, a towel, gloves, wet wipes. Grabs another condom, this one flavoured, for good measure. Makes a detour to the couch for a blanket.

Zitao stops touching himself when he returns, and Minseok dumps everything on a chair he pulls closer, catches him around his waist before he can lie back down onto the table. “Do it some more,” he says, and he presses into his back, wraps an arm around Zitao, arranges the blanket and the towel on top of the table one-handedly with difficulty as Zitao touches his own cock, slow and indulgent. Despite all his whining, Zitao has the patience of a person twice his age, Minseok thinks, and he covers Zitao’s hand with his, kisses hot confessions of love onto his shoulder as they jerk him off together.

“What do you want?” he asks, resting a cheek against his shoulder and letting his hand wander to wet a finger with Zitao’s precum and pet at his frenulum when Zitao halts his movements.

“Can we try intercrural?” Zitao asks, in between small noises, stumbling over the word. It's like him to know exactly what he wants, to not say _fuck my thighs_ but use a word he's probably never heard out loud, one that shows he’s done his research.

Minseok lets go of him, puts a hand on the small of his back but Zitao’s lying down already, and he agrees easily. He strokes himself through the fabric of his pyjamas, keeps his other hand on Zitao, kisses down Zitao's spine, traces its ridges until he's hard enough to roll a condom on.

"No condom," Zitao says when he sees him dropping the empty wrapper on another chair.

"I'm not cleaning come from the kitchen table or the floor," Minseok replies as he steps out of his pyjama bottoms, attempts to drape them over the back of the chair without leaving Zitao to the cool kitchen air.

Zitao doesn't protest.

He squeezes lube into his palm, coats the insides of Zitao's thighs. Lingers, rubs at Zitao's perineum wetly until he squirms and tells him to get to it. He's quiet when Minseok’s free hand holds on to his hip, quiet when he directs his cock between his thighs and pushes in, quiet still when he gives a few slow, tentative thrusts. The glide is smooth, and it feels like he's fucking into a marshmallow.

"How do you like it?" he asks Zitao.

"Can you—higher?"

Minseok hums and adjusts, angles his next thrusts so he's pushing past Zitao's taint. The response is immediate. Zitao lets out a low moan, tightens his thighs around Minseok.

"Ah, keep doing that," Minseok pants out, rocks with abandon into the grip of Zitao's thighs, every slow but measured thrust another confession, every moan a praise, a love note. His hand reaches around to search for Zitao's cock but he finds it tucked away under his body, cups his balls instead, squeezes them gently. Zitao rocks back against his hips, face now buried in the triangle of his arms when Minseok looks up. He shivers against Minseok, hums his moans, a small well of joy Minseok craves a sip from—but he holds him by the hips, fingers pressing into his warm skin until he's close, drinking in the lines of Zitao's back instead, the heat and friction of his thighs against his cock. It's dizzying when he comes, but Zitao holds on to him, has him trapped between his thighs.

"Good?" he asks with a knowing smile when Minseok pulls out, pulls the condom off.

"Very," Minseok tells him, leaning back against him with his softening cock squished between his thigh and Zitao's while he ties up the condom, drops it onto the chair. He wants to touch his face, kiss him until dawn and then sunrise with the tenderness of a day's end and a new beginning, but his hands are gross with lube and condom taste, and he doesn't want this to end with a trip to the sink just yet. He pets down Zitao's butt with both hands, doesn't have to wait long.

"Suck me off?" Zitao asks as much as he offers, and Minseok gladly, gladly will. "Like this," Zitao says and reaches down, pushes his cock between his thighs.

"In a minute," Minseok soothes when he parts Zitao's legs, gives the soft velvet of his cock a stroke. He's so hard, and he deserves so much, Minseok thinks as he grabs the flavoured condom, kneels and rolls it on with some difficulty, Zitao so pliant under his hands as if he already came. He pulls on a glove with greater difficulty after a moment's consideration, reaches for the lube. Zitao's back in the position he wanted, his ankles now crossed in the tangle of his clothes, the tip of his cock peeking out between his lube-shiny thighs.

They're going to get lube everywhere, Minseok thinks as he sits back on his haunches, his orgasm making him pleasantly unbothered, knees spread to fit around Zitao's legs. He warms some lube between the fingertips of his gloved hand and pushes two fingers of the other hand between Zitao's thighs, moves them up to hold his cock steady, keep it from slipping away. Zitao lets out a breath when he licks at the tip, falls silent when Minseok fits his mouth over it to suck at it softly with his face pressed up against his thighs. He lets his other hand glide up his butt and then slide between the cheeks to rub just as softly at Zitao’s hole, and he closes his eyes. From here on, it’s just Zitao, his smell, his sounds, the heat coming off him as he pushes back into Minseok’s touch, and the love Minseok holds for him hotly spilling all over the confines of his heart.

“We only had chocolate flavour left,” Minseok tells him afterwards as he’s washing his hands in the kitchen sink.

“Your least favourite? Need me to kiss it better?” Zitao grins as he says that when Minseok turns to him, as if he wasn’t the one using up all the fruit-flavoured ones. He’s not the least bit tired and fully aware of just how charming he is to Minseok, flashing him another one of those smiles from where he’s folding the blanket.

“Bedroom, before I change my mind,” Minseok says, drying his hands and watching Zitao shuffle towards the hallway with his pants still around his legs. Minseok steps on them until he’s pulled himself free, accepting a kiss to the cheek for his services and ducking away from the hand reaching to ruffle his hair.

He’s never dated someone quite like Zitao before, demanding but so patient where he found trust in Minseok, an exhilarating blend. Minseok can’t wait to give Zitao all the kisses he’ll ask for. He’s going to let Zitao find out about the aftertaste of plastic in his mouth by himself, and he’ll make up for that, too.

**Author's Note:**

> if you liked this, please leave a comment to let me know!


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